


Knockout

by skivvysupreme



Series: The Cuffed Verse [10]
Category: Glee
Genre: Cheerio Blaine, M/M, Past Violence, Skank Kurt Hummel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4793702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skivvysupreme/pseuds/skivvysupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Can I teach you how to box?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knockout

Kurt shouldn’t be nervous.

He and Blaine have spent the past five days of his blissful suspension getting to know each other better outside the mania of McKinley High. Kurt, able to sleep in now that he’s temporarily free from the place, wakes to **Good morning!** texts he can tell Blaine sent as soon as he woke up, because they arrive at 6:00 every morning. Then, they text throughout Blaine’s classes and Kurt’s reality TV marathons. Blaine sends updates on the football players’ post-Kurt bruises when he spots them on Friday—Figgins gave Kurt a longer sentence for “starting” the fight—and Kurt takes quiet pleasure knowing those assholes have to walk around telling everyone at McKinley not to fuck with Kurt Hummel, without saying a word.

Blaine brings Kurt’s homework every day that week, and they sit (or lay) on Kurt’s bed and complete their work together—with the door open, thank you, not cracked, as Burt had instructed. In the comfortable silences, Kurt glances over at the way Blaine’s eyelashes fan over his cheeks, how his muscles bulge when he folds his arms under his chin, and the shape of his mouth when he purses his lips in concentration, and Kurt falls a little farther for him before turning back to his own work.

Now, as Kurt approaches the Andersons’ notably large (but not ridiculous) house on a sunny Saturday afternoon, he knows he shouldn’t be nervous, considering he’s seen Blaine every day this week. But that doesn’t stop him from being so.

He rings the doorbell.

When Blaine answers a few moments later, opening the door with a huge grin and a breathless, “Hi, Kurt,” the sight of him knocks the air from Kurt’s lungs. His hair is gelled as usual, but little curls have broken free all along his hairline and around the tops of his ears. Blaine’s hands are wrapped in off-white fabric, which is hot for some reason that Kurt can’t really articulate, and he’s wearing a thin white tank top that leaves nothing to the imagination, from his peaked nipples to the extra bit of tummy resting comfortably at the top of his waistband.

And, of course, all this dewy skin and compact muscle and delicious, sweaty _boy_ is wrapped up in Kurt’s hoodie.

“Started without me?” Kurt croaks, embarrassed at how dry his throat has gone until he realizes Blaine’s reaching for him.

“Warmed up for you,” Blaine replies, and he takes Kurt’s hand and lifts on his toes to meet him for a kiss that is far more chaste than the visions going through Kurt’s head right now. “Ready to get to work?”

Work is the furthest thing from Kurt’s mind.

*****

The Andersons’ basement gym is spacious, well-stocked, and neatly organized. A stationary bike sits to the left side of the room, positioned in front of a mid-sized, wall-mounted TV and a mini fridge full of Gatorade and vitamin water. The punching bag is on the right side of the room, next to a pair of baskets with boxing equipment—a second pair of gloves, gauze and tape for hand wraps, boxes of Icy/Hot patches, and the like. The floor is covered in plush gray carpet, and the walls are covered in bright yellow paint, except for the center third of the room, where a spotless mirror sits behind—

“Is this… a stripper pole?” Kurt walks towards it, sliding his hand up the silver metal.

Blaine laughs and shakes his head. “Mom doesn’t strip on it, to the best of my knowledge. I don’t really want to know if she does, actually.”

“This is your mom’s? I was just about to ask if you used it.” Kurt walks idly around the pole, still gripping it with one hand.

“Um,” Blaine swallows, watching Kurt rotate around the pole and flexing his wrapped hands at his sides. “I don’t, no. Mom says it’s a really good workout, though. Good for strength and toning.”

Kurt rests his back against it, his hands wrapped around the metal above his head. “Aw. And here I thought we’d be able to pick up our ‘losing clothes around each other’ thing. Haven’t done that in a while.”

One week and fourteen hours, to be exact. Puck’s party feels like it was ages ago.

Blaine walks up to Kurt and grabs him by the waist, then starts walking them backwards towards his boxing area. “True. But I don’t think my mom’s aerobic pole is the place to do it. Now come on, Kurt, I’m serious about showing you how to box and you’re starting to distract me.”

Kurt pouts, but follows Blaine over to the punching bag.

They wrap Kurt’s hands, which Blaine explains is for protection and support of his knuckles and fingers. He helps Kurt get the boxing gloves on, then doubles over laughing when Kurt bounces around on his toes and makes a few light swings in midair, complete with _pow, pow!_ noises. “You are so much more adorable than anyone at school knows.”

“I am not adorable! I’m fierce, I’ll fuck you up.”

“You are fierce, but you’re also adorable, and I promise I won’t tell anybody.”

The lesson goes pretty smoothly for the better part of an hour. Blaine teaches him a basic defensive stance, showing him how to hold his hands so that his face and neck are protected. He reminds Kurt to keep moving, to keep his knees bent and his feet loose and light, so that he can use his agility and speed to his advantage. Then they go through the left hook and the right hook.

“Remember not to lock your elbows. You don’t need the full extension,” Blaine says, correcting Kurt’s form with gentle fingers under his forearm. “The strength is behind the blow, not at the end of it, so think of your arm like a spring. You need momentum for your next strike, and you have to keep your defenses up and ready, so just send it out and then quickly bring it back in.”

“Like a cobra?” Kurt asks, pushing sweaty pink hair out of his face.

“Like a cobra. The point is to keep yourself protected and push your opponent back if you need to.”

“Protect and disarm.” Kurt considers this, extending and retracting his arm slowly as he practices the move. “ _Expelliarmus_ ,” he whispers, as he lets his fist connect with the punching bag and then immediately pulls it back.

He hears Blaine gasp next to him. In the silence that follows, Kurt glances over to find Blaine’s eyes having gone huge and golden and his smile massive despite the fact that he’s got his bottom lip between his teeth.

Kurt knows what he said. He didn’t mean to say it, but he knows what he said. “Something wrong?”

Blaine bounces on his toes, just a little bit, his lip breaking free from his teeth to make his grin even bigger and more ridiculous. “ _Kurt_ , you just—”

“Not a single god damn word, Anderson.”

“But… you’re a _nerd_ , baby—“

Kurt stares at the ceiling of Blaine’s basement, bristling in annoyance at this chip in his careful Skank veneer and fighting down the flutter in his belly at the pet name Blaine used. “I said, not a word.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll drop it, but… just one question?”

“What.”

“What’s your house? I bet you’re a Gryffindor. Oh, you’re _totally_ a Gryffindor, aren’t you? I—”

“Slytherin, thank you very much. And you reek of Hufflepuff, and I know I’m right, so now that that’s settled, can we get back to boxing?”

Blaine gapes at Kurt with the biggest, dumbest smile on his face—which Kurt fights very hard not to return—then leans over and kisses his cheek. “Okay. Now, put all the moves together. Show me what you’ve got.”

Kurt manages to keep up a rhythm, for a while—right hook, left hook, right hook, left hook—but after a few minutes, it feels more technical than he thinks it should. He can’t settle into it. Blaine praises his form, but he’s just going through the motions, the punches beginning to frustrate him rather than fill him with the rush of power he thought he’d feel by now.

“Kurt, what is it?”

He shrugs, halfheartedly throwing a punch at the bag. “This feels weird. I want to be doing something, you know? I’m not really connecting to it, because there’s no… feedback, I guess. No response. This needs purpose or else it’s just mindless punching for the sake of punching.”

“Well, the bag can be anything you need it to be. Or anyone.” Blaine gestures for Kurt to step aside as he slips on the spare pair of gloves, then stands in his place and quietly looks at the bag for a few moments. He raises his fists, slipping easily into a boxing stance, and says, “This is the guy who snuck up behind you and pushed you down in the parking lot.”

He punches the bag in a quick one-two, one-two succession. His face darkens, his eyebrows flattening with something angry and sinister.

“This is the guy who pinned you down and ripped off your boutonniere and smashed the flower.”

One-two, one-two-three.

“Blaine?”

“This is the other one, who hit your date in the mouth first so it would hurt to make noise.”

One, one-two, one-two-three, one-two.

“Every friend who stopped talking to you after it happened.”

One-two, one, one-two-three-four, one, one-two-three. The punches are getting harder.

“The teachers who looked at you with pity every time they saw your bruises but did absolutely nothing to stop the bullying.”

One, one-two-three-four-five.

“Blaine.”

But Blaine doesn’t seem to hear Kurt. Every bit of his focus is on that bag and in his own head. The tension in his shoulders and in the muscles at the tops of his arms is tight, keeping that one bulging vein in his forearm pronounced as it curls towards his hands. His fists land hard, powerful punches to the bag, sending it swaying and swinging about. Kurt has never seen this look in Blaine’s eyes before—venomous, vengeful, _aggressive_ —and he’s not sure if Blaine’s really with him right now.

Kurt reaches out a hand, but he doesn’t know if he should touch; he gets the feeling he might startle Blaine if he does, and he doesn’t know what a startled, angry Blaine in boxing gloves might do out of instinct. So he steps slowly behind the punching bag, inching closer and closer to it until he can rest his hands against it and stop it from moving around so much.

Blaine seems to notice that the bag isn’t responding as strongly to his strikes, so he hits it harder.

Kurt braces himself, takes the force of it, supporting the bag against the onslaught. He can tell, from the feel of those blows, that if this bag had actually been a person, it wouldn’t still be upright. He moves his head to the side, peeking out at him, and tries again. “Blaine?”

Maybe it’s the flash of pink hair against the punching bag, or the glint of Kurt’s nose ring, or even the fading bruise on his visible cheek that finally catches Blaine’s attention. He stops, abruptly.

“Kurt. I’m—I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Blaine backs away, his chest heaving as he looks at his feet and tries to regain his composure. Tension still lines his shoulders, but as he pulls off the boxing gloves and flexes his hands, he appears to relax a little bit.

Kurt comes closer, nudging the discarded gloves away from them with his foot, and says, “I do. You didn’t take up boxing for defense, did you?”

“I did, but—“

“But you don’t use it to protect yourself. You use it to get everything out.”

Blaine looks up at him, then, and he doesn’t say anything or even nod, but Kurt sees the answer in that weary look in Blaine’s eyes.

“Being angry all the time is exhausting.” Kurt says, carefully matter-of-fact. He knows the feeling more intimately than he’d care to admit. It sneaks up on him, too, having become such an undercurrent in his daily outlook that he barely notices it anymore. Kurt likes to think he’s gotten over it, sometimes, but he’s just _tired_.

Tears are welling up in Blaine’s eyes, almost sparking the same in Kurt before he pushes them back down. “Yeah, it is,” he sighs. “And I don’t know how to stop, but I don’t know what to do with it.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to ‘do’ with it. The people who tell you to ‘forgive and forget’ are people who don’t want to deal with what they’ve done. And if they don’t deserve forgiveness, I’m certainly not going to forget it.” Kurt’s voice goes as hard as steel at the end, but he softens it again as he asks, “Those things you said when you were hitting the bag… what happened? Before Dalton. You don’t have to tell me yet, but…”

Blaine shakes his head, lowering himself to a seated position on the carpet a bit farther away from the punching bag, and tugs Kurt’s hand so he’ll do the same. Once they’re both settled, Blaine takes a deep breath and says, “There was this school dance, right after I came out. These guys beat the crap out of my date and me while we were waiting for our ride home. And they didn’t get caught, so from that point on, it was like open season. My date transferred right away. Going to school was a nightmare. And nobody cared. Nobody helped me, nobody did _anything_.”

Kurt stays quiet, just letting Blaine talk while he listens. He reaches for Blaine’s hands, gently but swiftly unwrapping them before unwrapping his own.

Blaine flexes his newly freed fingers. “That day with the slushies… I couldn’t take it. It felt like it was starting all over again, right when I thought I was safe. Right when you came into my life.” He shifts closer, placing his hands on Kurt’s thighs. “You did so much for me that day, Kurt. I’ve never felt like that, the way I did in that bathroom with you afterwards.”

“And… I’ve never felt the way I did that night, in Puck’s bed with you,” Kurt whispers, placing his hands over Blaine’s to slide them a little higher up on his legs. He’s not sure why he’s whispering when it’s just the two of them, but he feels like he’s admitting something big here.

Because, though neither says it outright, they both know what those feelings had meant to them in the moment. They’d felt loved.

Kurt feels Blaine’s hands squeeze at his thighs, sees Blaine’s eyes drift down to his lips, and he knows they’re done talking for now. He lifts up on his knees, walking forward on them, and puts a hand on Blaine’s chest to push him to the floor. Blaine lies back, stretching his legs out while Kurt keeps crawling forward to straddle him. He sits down over Blaine’s lap, and the heat he feels underneath him is immediate; Blaine’s getting hard already, his dick nudging up against Kurt’s ass through their sweatpants as he squeezes at Kurt’s hips.

“Fuck,” Kurt groans, spreading his bent legs and bending down so that they’re chest-to-chest. He reaches underneath Blaine’s head, digging one hand in his curls as he holds himself up with the other. Blaine’s hair is wet and sticky with sweat and gel, but Kurt doesn’t care. He pulls Blaine towards him, lifting Blaine’s head off the floor as he takes his mouth, and Blaine moans into the kiss, his hands circling tight around Kurt’s back.

Kurt’s rocking his hips before he knows it, grinding down against Blaine with his own hardening dick trapped uncomfortably in his briefs and pressing against Blaine’s stomach. It’s not enough, not the kind of friction he needs, nor the kind of friction he’s been thinking about ever since Puck’s party. And this, making out with Blaine on his basement floor, is completely different from that night; it had been dim in Puck’s room, and their bodies had moved slowly against each other, allowing Kurt to close his eyes and get lost in the sensations in a different way. Now, the space is bright and well-lit, and he can see every bead of sweat on Blaine’s skin. He can see Blaine’s Adam’s apple moving up and down as he swallows, gasping for breath. He can see the way Blaine’s eyebrows furrow when Kurt rocks his hips a little harder.

But it’s not enough. He wants to see more.

“C-can we…” He removes his hand from the back of Blaine’s head, wiping the gel/sweat mixture on Blaine’s shirt, and moves it down to Blaine’s waistband. He tentatively slips his fingertips underneath and is surprised to find the swollen head of Blaine’s dick already there to greet him.

Blaine makes a broken noise at his touch and immediately moves to push his sweatpants and underwear down his hips. “Don’t stop, don’t stop—“

“You don’t wanna go slow this time?”

“No, need you, just—“ Blaine gets his pants halfway down his thighs and then moves to pull Kurt’s down, too.

Kurt lifts up so he can get his legs free from his clothing, while Blaine lifts his legs in the air so he can fling his pants and underwear to the side. Kurt shivers just watching him; hearing his need, and seeing it like this, has Kurt completely hard in a matter of seconds.

Blaine is breathing hard with his mouth dropped open, and as he settles back into a laying position, he curls his hand around his thick, flushed dick where it lies against his stomach. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, then opens them again and looks at Kurt’s naked lower half as he starts stroking himself.

Kurt stares.

“Kurt,” Blaine whimpers, open and vulnerable as he looks back up at Kurt’s face.

“I’m—I’m here, sorry.” Kurt crawls on top of him again, pressing him flat into the carpet, and Blaine wraps his legs around Kurt, resting his calves against the backs of Kurt’s thighs. He moves Blaine’s hand and slots them together, wrapping his own hand around both of them at the base, and starts to rock his hips again. “You look so hot right now, oh my god—“

Blaine slides his hands around to Kurt’s ass, kneading him and pressing him closer as he starts to move his hips to meet his thrusts. “Please—“

Kurt slides his arm around Blaine’s neck, letting Blaine’s head rest in the crook of his elbow as he kisses him again. After a while, though, his lips lose focus; heat’s building and building in his belly and between his legs, and he feels both his and Blaine’s stomachs getting wet as they start leaking on each other. When he’s just panting and mouthing at Blaine’s cheek, Blaine reaches up and pulls Kurt’s head to the side, kissing and licking and sucking at _that spot_ he’d found on Kurt’s neck as he thrusts harder and harder into Kurt’s hand.

And Blaine’s still kneading Kurt’s ass with his other hand. He’s fucking _coordinated_ like this, despite his desperate whines and the way he’s holding Kurt’s body for dear life, and it’s all Kurt can do to keep stroking them together when he’s hot all over and can barely keep track of everything that’s happening.

The feel of Blaine’s hands and mouth and body rocking against him, wrapped around him, sucking at him, squeezing at him—it’s too much, and Kurt’s orgasm rushes up on him without warning. He presses his face into the carpet next to Blaine’s head, moaning as he suddenly comes all over them both. Blaine picks up the slack when Kurt loses his rhythm, putting both hands back on Kurt’s ass and grinding them through the wet mess Kurt made on their stomachs and shirts until he comes too.

Kurt lifts his head and kisses at Blaine’s cheek as his noises start to die off and his grip on Kurt’s ass loosens. “I don’t know how you do that, how you make me feel like that,” he mumbles, nuzzling against Blaine’s face with more kisses, albeit much softer and slower ones than they’ve given each other so far today. He shifts downwards so he can rest a little more comfortably against Blaine’s chest. His body’s tingling and sensitive, especially where their bare skin is touching, and he feels like he could burst with the swell of affection for Blaine that’s growing in his chest.

“I know the feeling,” Blaine sighs, tilting his face into Kurt’s kisses with a sated little smile. He slides his hand under Kurt’s t-shirt, rubbing idly at his lower back. “Think we’ll ever do this in one of our own beds?”

Kurt snorts into Blaine’s chest, his cheeks going warm again when he feels Blaine brush a kiss across his forehead. “Yeah. Sooner or later. Probably. But where’s the fun in that?”


End file.
